oh yeah… that’s what radio silence means… sweet…
hooah for you guy. livin at home. dead end job stopping poor people from stealing. weekends spent getting into fights in seattle. beaten, bruised, and broken. so you do the logical thing right? yeah, ruin the only good thing in your life :) out fucking standing. fucking retard. hope you’re happy cooper.
The average age of the military man is 19 years. He is a short haired, tight-muscled kid who, under normal circumstances, is considered by society as half man, half boy. Not yet dry behind the ears, not old enough to buy a beer, but old enough to die for his country. He never really cared much for work and he would rather wax his own car than wash his father’s, but he has never collected unemployment either
He’s a recent High School graduate; he was probably an average student, pursued some form of sport activities, drives a ten year old jalopy and has a steady girlfriend that either broke up with him when he left or swears to be waiting when he returns from half a world away He listens to rock and roll or hip-hop or rap or jazz or swing and a 155mm howitzer.
He is 10 to 15 pounds lighter now than when he was at home because he is working or fighting from before dawn to well after dusk. He has trouble spelling; thus letter writing is a pain for him. He can field strip a rifle in 30 seconds and re-assemble it in less time in the dark. He can recite to you the nomenclature of a machine gun or grenade launcher and use either one effectively if he must.
He digs foxholes and latrines and can apply first aid like a professional.
He can march until he is told to stop or stop until he is told to march.
He obeys orders instantly and without hesitation, but he is not without spirit or individual dignity. He is self-sufficient.
He has two sets of fatigues; he washes one and wears the other. He keeps his canteens full and his feet dry.
He sometimes forgets to brush his teeth but never to clean his rifle. He can cook his own meals, mend his own clothes and fix his own hurts.
If you’re thirsty, he’ll share his water with you; if you are hungry, his food. He’ll even split his ammunition with you in the midst of battle when you run low.
He has learned to use his hands like weapons and weapons like they were his hands.
He can save your life - or take it, because that is his job.
He will often do twice the work of a civilian, draw half the pay and still find ironic humor in it all.
He has seen more suffering and death than he should have in his short lifetime.
He has wept in public and in private, for friends who have fallen in combat and is unashamed.
He feels every note of the National Anthem vibrate through his body while at rigid attention, while tempering the burning desire to ‘square-away ’ those around him who haven’t bothered to stand, remove their hat or even stop talking.
In an odd twist, day in and day out, far from home, he defends their right to be disrespectful.
Just as did his Father, Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, he is paying the price for our freedom. Beardless or not, he is not a boy. He is the American Fighting Man that has kept this country free for over 200 years.
He has asked nothing in return except our friendship and understanding.
Remember him always, for he has earned our respect and admiration with his blood.
And now we even have women over there in danger, doing their part in this tradition of going to war when our nation calls us to do so.
As you go to bed tonight, remember this shot…
A short lull, a little shade and a picture of loved ones in their helmets.
and note that they have to magazine in her weapon… ate up.
Airborne Toxic Event….? nopenopenopenopenope.
i sat in my dad’s office today, didn’t say a word to him.. just watched him slave tirelessly to help out everyone else… he mumbled to himself, said stuff to me, told jokes, just kept me company, even though i didn’t say a single word… i knew that this day is going to come to an end sometime… i won’t be able to stop it… i can’t make him better… i can’t save him when i KNOW HE saves ME… he’s my hero… he is every good thing that i am.. if i was 1/4th the man he is, i would be proud. i would be ok with myself… but i won’t be… i love you. you’ve been the big mountain i used to climb on when i was young, you still are… you always know when i fuck up, before i even do it… you’re what a man truly is. you are my father… never daddy, papa, or anything like that… you’re my old man… and i know you only have so much longer left… i don’t want to move out because i don’t want that phone call that mom found you dead… i want to be here to hold, to cry, and to help when you go… i want to be the man of the house you’ve tried to teach me to be… i’m so afraid… i won’t be able to without you… i love you, and even though you’re still here, i’m gonna miss you old man…